


Endorsement

by pomegrenadier



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, slightly AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29479653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pomegrenadier/pseuds/pomegrenadier
Summary: Crayce goes to meet with Adasca Corporation's representatives on Quesh. Predictably, everything goes wrong.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 18





	Endorsement

**Author's Note:**

> Basically just a scene rewrite to account for a warier PC with an entire team of people who would be very useful as backup, and to hint a bit more at Crayce's tragic backstory.

Cipher Nine is watching the factory with a faint frown. "It's not in operation," he says.

"That's pretty normal," says Mako. "There's a venom shortage right now—supply lines are a mess from all the fighting. No raw materials, no product."

"Security?"

"Looks like it's mostly internal. Droid sentries, surveillance, that kind of thing. I can grab the cameras if you're really that worried, but ... are you?"

"Maybe."

Crayce grimaces behind her breathing mask. "We'll be careful. Mako, stay low, be ready to slice their systems. Tazra, with me."

"Stealth?" he says quietly.

She hesitates. If it's a trap, coming apparently alone might actually look more suspicious than not—on the other hand, people tend to assume she's the brainless bruiser type, _all helmet and no head,_ as Torian puts it, so depending on how smart or at least paranoid the opposition expects her to be ...

_If_ it's a trap.

"No," she says after a moment. "Stick close, though. Just in case."

"Understood," says Cipher Nine.

"Everybody ready?"

"All set," Mako chirps, and Cipher Nine nods.

Crayce takes a deep breath of heavily filtered air. "Okay. Let's go say hi to our nice friends at AdasCorp."

* * *

They're greeted by a trim man in a pale gold business suit, just inside the plant. He smiles broadly as Crayce and Cipher Nine approach. "So you're Serrin Crayce? My, my. The pictures don't do you justice," he says, with the air of gearing up to kiss her hand or something. Which is just ... uncomfortable, whether or not it's sincere, and her money's on not. She's not exactly poster girl material, these days. "Peyton Swole, Director of Galactic Relations."

Should've brought Gault along, just to see if he could out-slime this guy. "Real nice to meet you," Crayce says with a polite smile, playing up her slight drawl.

"And your associate, of course," says Swole, turning to Cipher Nine. "Nelani, wasn't it?"

"Please," says Cipher Nine, in an easy, bland Mid Rim accent. "Call me Tazra."

"Of course, of course. It's a pleasure to meet the both of you in person."

"Let's get down to business, Director," Crayce says.

"We can discuss the terms of contractual partnership in my office," says Swole. "This way, please." He leads them across the factory floor—empty of workers, the machinery still and silent, only a few sentry droids by the entrance to the R&D labs downstairs.

"Don't seem to be making all that many adrenals right now," Crayce comments. "You sure you can afford me?"

Swole laughs, cultured and polite. "While this specific plant has encountered a few setbacks, our total adrenal production is up nearly two hundred percent with the renewal of hostilities between the Empire and the Republic. I'm sure you understand."

"Oh, I'll bet."

He leads them to a generously decorated office at the back of the facility and moves to stand behind the desk, gesturing for them to sit in the deeply cushioned chairs in front of it. "Make yourselves comfortable," he says warmly. "May I offer you anything?"

Crayce plops down in hers; on her left, Cipher Nine follows suit. "No, thanks," she says.

But Swole activates the desk's comm anyway. "Valory, send in a refreshment cart ... spare no expense."

Trap.

There's a burst of static and earsplitting feedback over her own comm, Mako's voice coming through in frantic garbled fragments. Crayce can't make out a single word. She doesn't need to. She's on her feet with her blaster pointed at Swole's head before he can so much as sneeze. "Who the fuck are you?" she demands.

"Agent Dhal, Strategic Information Service," the man in the gold suit says coolly, hands at his sides, unworried. She hears footsteps behind her—four or five people, maybe. Then there's a very distinctive hiss, and a harsh blue glow sends her own shadow leaping forward.

Jedi.

Oh, _shit._

A holo flickers to life on the desk projector—an old man in ornate robes. He just ... stands there. Watching.

"I'm placing you under arrest for the murder of Jedi Master Kellian Jarro," says Dhal. "Among many, many others. Highlights include Doctor Aden Norion, Warden—"

Flicker-snap.

Crayce moves the second that Cipher Nine vanishes. She leaps to tackle Dhal, clear across the desk between them; he goes down with a yelp as her considerable weight crashes into him. Coincidentally, this also gives her cover from the newcomers.

She punches Dhal in the face a couple of times. Something goes _crack._ If he's very lucky, it's only his nose. Stunned or concussed or dead, she doesn't particularly care—she flinches as blaster bolts pepper the desk behind her. A choked gasp: someone getting a stiletto through the ribs. There's a break in the blasterfire—Crayce peeks around the desk and grins. Three agents and a Mirialan Jedi—Kellian Jarro's apprentice, whatsherface Noori—and they're all hunting for Cipher Nine, who's playing very, very hard to get.

Crayce shoots two of the agents from cover. The third drops with a faint gurgle; there's a flicker of distortion behind the guy as Cipher Nine's stealth field stabilizes. The Jedi's onto him, raising a hand with a focused expression, and the air goes tense as she prepares to do _something_ extremely inconvenient.

Crayce hits her with an electro-dart. She cries out in pain, falling to her knees, lightsaber deactivating as it leaves her spasming fingers. Crayce shoots the saber hilt, destroying it so Noori can't pull any fancy Force tricks to yank it back to hand.

"Give it up and we'll call it even, kid," says Crayce. She keeps her blaster trained on the Jedi as she recovers.

"Your mercy doesn't exonerate you," Noori says, voice tight. She looks up at Crayce, defiant, stupidly young.

Crayce fucking hates this. "I know," she says. "Believe me, I know."

"You are a killer for hire. A traitor to the Republic. I sense your guilt. Turn yourself in, and maybe the courts will—"

"No," Crayce says, and she tastes bile and Norion's serum and blood bubbling up her throat. "No way in hell."

Cipher Nine hisses out of stealth, just behind the Jedi. His sidearm's pointed at the back of her head, and his expression is disturbingly neutral. "Serrin," he says quietly.

She flicks the blaster to stun and squeezes the trigger. Noori slumps to the ground.

There's a moment of ringing silence. Then the old Jedi on the holo says, "You've only made matters worse for yourself. Justice will be done. I promise you."

Crayce can't think of a witty retort before he cuts the connection and vanishes from sight.

Cipher Nine's mouth twists to the side. Slowly, he lowers his blaster. "Well. This is ... unfortunate." He looks down at Noori. "Are you sure you want to leave her alive? Again?"

Crayce stomps over to Agent Dhal. He's definitely dead. Yay, she killed an SIS agent with her bare hands. Put that on the fucking resume. "No," she growls, going through the corpse's pockets for data drives or code cylinders or anything to indicate who the fuck the old Jedi was. Not that there's anything to find, seems like. "But I'm pretty damn sure I don't want to kill her in cold blood."

"I could—"

"Don't," she snaps. "I know you _could_ do it. I don't want you to."

He regards her for a moment, face blank. Then he nods. "Understood."

She pinches the bridge of her nose. "I just ... fuck. _Fuck._ We need to get out of here."

Her comm crackles. "—hear me? Crayce, Tazra, do you copy?"

"We hear you, Mako," she says, jerking her chin towards the door, already in motion. Cipher Nine falls into step beside her. "Are you okay?"

"We're fine," Mako says. "Had to relocate—got jumped by a bunch of scary government types with a jammer. Gault took a hit, but it's not bad."

"What do you know, we got jumped by a bunch of scary government types, too. Got eyes on the entrance?"

"Yeah, looks clear from here."

"Okay, good. On our way out. Bring the speeder around." She breaks into a jog, long strides eating up the factory floor, and pings Torian at the ship. "Crayce to _Paladin._ Ran into trouble. Warm up the engines and prep the nav computer, we're out of here the second we clear atmo."

"Roger that," Torian says. "Trap?"

"Trap," she confirms.

"Sorry. Be careful."

"Will do."

They burst through the doors and into the acrid gloom outside. Her eye stings slightly; her implant indicates all sorts of exciting and hazardous particulates as a smog cloud oozes in from the south. She and Cipher Nine dash across the deserted plaza just as Mako arrives with the speeder.

"Oh, goody, the suits didn't eat you alive," Gault says with a little wave from the passenger's seat. There are new scorch marks on his armor.

Mako twists around to look at them as they pile into the back, her face pinched with tension where it's not obscured by her breathing mask. "What the hell just happened?"

"Drive, I'll explain on the way," Crayce says, fastening her own mask into place.

Mako guns it for the Imperial spaceport.


End file.
